


do you play it nicely?

by wildcard_47



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:59:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major spoilers for 7x07, "Waterloo." Or, after delivering his news, Roger doesn't leave Don's apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do you play it nicely?

They're sitting on the floor in the dark in Don's living room, in rumpled suit pants and collared shirts, slumped against the frame of the couch, and have been passing a half-full bottle back and forth for about an hour. Roger's had more than Don, who only drank enough to take the edge off. And they've been sitting in silence for almost two minutes when Roger speaks.

“I fucked Lee, you know.”

Don lifts his head from where it's lolling on the sofa to stare at the man. Lee _Garner?_ “What?”

The older man shrugs, like it's just some story he's conveniently forgotten to mention. “Remember Hank Williams?” With a laugh. “I had to wear a ten-gallon hat.”

“Jesus.” Don takes another swig from the bottle to stop himself from bursting into inappropriate laughter. Questions fly through his mind. _Did_ _Cooper know? Why Hank Williams? When was this?_

The only one he asks is meant to be funny. “Was he any good?”

Roger scoffs out a breath, regarding Don with a smirk and raised eyebrows. “Hilarious.” A pause. “Thought you'd have tried it once by now.”

Don frowns, not understanding. “Really?”

“Your wife's young,” Roger mumbles with another shrug, as if it explains everything. “With weird friends.”

Don's mouth thins, and he pushes the bottle aside. He doesn't want to think about Megan right now. “What are you, interested?”

The other man punches his shoulder with a loose fist, shaking his head. “Don't be an asshole.”

Don doesn't say anything in reply, so they're quiet for a few minutes. He leans back into the sofa, watching the strange patterns of headlights and streetlights play across the ceiling, until movement to his right makes him turn.

Roger's scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck, sighing out a long breath. “We should go find some girls.” But he doesn't get up from the floor.

“Thought you went light in the loafers,” Don says dryly, placing a hand to Roger's upper thigh as a joke, like they're two kids about to start necking.

“Jesus, Draper. Cut it out.”

With a growl and a glare, like he's about to punch him in the mouth. But Don's hand is close enough to the other man's cock that he can feel it start to stir, and when he looks down and sees it hardening against the fabric of Roger's expensive suit, he gets a sudden, perverse urge. He rubs his hand across the front of the other man's suit pants, watching Roger's mouth drop open as he does it.

“Don—” Roger begins, eyes dark, voice low.

“Don't talk,” Don says. Grinding the heel of his palm into him.

Roger exhales at the touch, eyes fluttering closed. As Don unzips him and gets one hand inside his shorts, to play over the tip of his cock with several fingers, Roger gasps out a startled, “Jesus—” and his hips jerk forward like he's a frustrated string puppet.

Don can't help huffing out a laugh. So much for  _don't talk_ . “Were you even listening to me?” Light touches turning to full strokes.

Roger tries to bite back, opening his eyes, but the only word he can manage is breathless and needy. “Shithead.”

Don twists his hand on the upstroke, making the other man moan. And the more worked up Roger gets, the more he can't stop babbling. Gasps and whimpers fall from his lips mixed with groans of encouragement. Faster. Harder. Yeah, get me wet.

And after the third or fourth time Roger blurts the word  _wet_ , Don stills his hand almost entirely, and looks the older man dead in the eye.

“If you want my mouth, just say it.”

“Are—you kidding?” Roger stammers, eyes wide, but Don's already pulling him out of his fly with one hand as he leans down.

“Jesus—no wonder girls—drop their panties for you,” the older man manages to rasp, writhing under the attention. “Ah—”

Don laves his tongue over Roger's slit, trying to remember the way a woman in the Plaza had done this to him, years ago. She made him so weak in the knees he came in five minutes.

“Oh— _fuck—_ ”

The younger man chuckles at the blurted-out words, making Roger twitch and put a hand to the back of his neck at the sensations this creates, and for several more minutes, Don just concentrates on pressure and speed and suction. He can't take Roger all the way in without choking, but given how the other man groans and moves, he doesn't seem to care that much, not until Don suddenly releases him with a pop, and sits up, mouth red and wet.

“No—” Roger makes a whining noise in the back of his throat, between ragged breaths. “Come on, please—”

Don puts his knees on either side of Roger's legs to get closer, and uses his hands this time, one wrapped around the base, and one jerking quick, just to prove a point. He knows he can't bring the other man off with his mouth—not as fast as Roger wants, anyway—but it doesn't matter. Roger starts to push his hips up in a desperate frenzy, thrusting into Don's hands with these obscene, ragged, open-mouthed moans, until the noises border on whimpers, until he's shaking with need, one hand braced hard against Don's leg and the other clutching at the shoulder of his collared shirt—

“Come on,” is all Don says. “Come on.”

Roger shudders and yelps as he goes over the edge, back arching, and after he comes he puts a palm over his eyes, mouth clamped closed, raw emotion etched into the lines of his face. His chest heaves with several dry sobs. Don averts his gaze with a jolt of guilt, and just concentrates on touching the older man gentle and easy until the moment's passed, until Don finally trusts himself to move away, wiping his hands on a handkerchief he finds crumpled in his pants pocket.

After a minute, he looks to his right. Roger's head rests against the seam of the couch cushion, face turned toward the sliding glass doors, eyes uncovered but conspicuously wet. He's in his shorts, but his pants are still unzipped.

“You okay?”

Roger glances back at him. He swipes the heel of one palm over his eyes, swallows the congestion in his throat, then looks down at Don's pants with a noise like a raspy laugh, although he isn't smiling. His voice is quiet.

“Shit. Why didn't you say something?" He reaches for Don's zipper, as if to prove he wants him, but the younger man wraps a hand around Roger's wrist and moves his hand away, not unkindly. It's fine.

“Later.” A pause. Don glances left, sees the etched bottle sitting by the legs of the coffee table, and grabs it by the neck, taking a quick pull before offering it to the other man. “You want any?”

Roger clears his throat, and nods, taking the bottle with a mumbled _yeah_. Don reaches into his shirt pocket to pull out his cigarettes, sticks one in his mouth, then tosses the pack between Roger's knees. After he lights it, he grabs the clicker from the sofa and flips on the television, bathing the room in blue light--both men watching a now-familiar replay as the lunar craft glides gently down toward the surface of the moon.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Company Way" in _How to Succeed In Business..._ because I had to. RIP, Bertram. "Do you play it nicely?/I play it nicely/Still he blitzes me in any game like that..."
> 
> I have never truly shipped Don/Roger, but honestly, I always figured it'd be these guys sticking together in the city and bitching at each other long after their fifth wives divorced them (or until Roger had his millionth coronary.) Long history, wince-inducing rapport with ex-wives/love interests, and all the liver function and emotional health of a couple of newborn babies. Maybe given Roger's probable bisexuality/whatever the hell he had to do in service of Lee Garner Jr., the swinging 60s would get to them in the end? I'm just saying, if it ever happened, we could save some fabulous ladies from a legion of mommy issues.
> 
> And re: Sunday's episode, between Roger's broken "I'm gonna lose you, too," and his camping out by Don's apartment to catch him post-business trip? The fic tropes write themselves these days...


End file.
